Thursday, September 11, 2008
11 September 2008
Last night I couldn’t sleep. There seemed to be enormous tension in the air, somehow, and I couldn’t relax or settle. My body ached. I could not get comfortable. I found myself feeling furious with the situation in America. The news was bad from the elections. I felt such fury at that country's capacity for self deception. At their arrogance in trying to export a 'democracy' that is so terribly, tragically flawed. And I could not get my mind to focus on the idea of sleep.
Round about 3am I ran a bath. Slept in the bath, of course, and that somehow enabled me to let go and sleep afterwards in bed.
But after I’d woken about 8 work seemed impossible today. As a delaying tactic I started to tidy my wardrobe. Horrified at what I found: an unhappy person buying too many clothes in an attempt to ward off a deep unhappiness.
But oddly enough, in spite of that, I did work. Out in the garden, revising the first act.
And felt immensely proud of it. Felt a basic confidence: yes, this will work.
And then prepared the first trans creativity class. Which, as it turned out, was such a delight. I often do an exercise where we tell each other stories of our lives. We split into pairs: one talks, the other listen. Then we swap over. The person who listens then undertakes to tell their partner’s story to the group, in the first person, as if it was their own, and being aware that this is a story of heroism.
Which, in fact, it invariably is.
I was struck all over again tonight by the astonishing richness of our stories. And to hear my own retold was a profoundly moving experience.
I walked down the road: and think of tomorrow’s work with real pleasure.
As opposed to the usual: dread.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. There seemed to be enormous tension in the air, somehow, and I couldn’t relax or settle. My body ached. I could not get comfortable. I found myself feeling furious with the situation in America. The news was bad from the elections. I felt such fury at that country's capacity for self deception. At their arrogance in trying to export a 'democracy' that is so terribly, tragically flawed. And I could not get my mind to focus on the idea of sleep.
Round about 3am I ran a bath. Slept in the bath, of course, and that somehow enabled me to let go and sleep afterwards in bed.
But after I’d woken about 8 work seemed impossible today. As a delaying tactic I started to tidy my wardrobe. Horrified at what I found: an unhappy person buying too many clothes in an attempt to ward off a deep unhappiness.
But oddly enough, in spite of that, I did work. Out in the garden, revising the first act.
And felt immensely proud of it. Felt a basic confidence: yes, this will work.
And then prepared the first trans creativity class. Which, as it turned out, was such a delight. I often do an exercise where we tell each other stories of our lives. We split into pairs: one talks, the other listen. Then we swap over. The person who listens then undertakes to tell their partner’s story to the group, in the first person, as if it was their own, and being aware that this is a story of heroism.
Which, in fact, it invariably is.
I was struck all over again tonight by the astonishing richness of our stories. And to hear my own retold was a profoundly moving experience.
I walked down the road: and think of tomorrow’s work with real pleasure.
As opposed to the usual: dread.
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